Best Proclamations Poems
"Here is my secret. It is very simple: one sees clearly only with the heart.
Anything essential is invisible to the eyes."
"Le Petite Prince"
Antoine De St. Exupery
touch me and
i'll touch you
we don't do this on a whim
measure twice cut once
but always from the heart
some use words rarely used in conversation
let these wonderful poets tickle that market's fancy
there are those
knit you a scarf from yarns of clouds
warm your day with a smile reflects
the clean heat of a nineteen nineteen sun
others who write you a poem you can share with a child
visions painted in words
cups of hot chocolate with those teeny weeny marshmallows
children's grandiose proclamations of love with every sip
for them the ambrosia of Gods confirmed by their laughter of joy
you see hopscotch squares loosely drawn in chalk
you see your daughter hear an echo for the first time
some poetry does that conjures a thousand pictures of pure innocence
also poetry that sings
with rhymes that are natural,
neatly placed in the story being told
or
sometimes the kind
occasionally trips on the page
love doesn't demand conditions
sonnets neatly metered
roll off the tongue
or
even if it twists a bit leaves you with a knot
stick it out and laugh it straight easy as that
we're here for each other
people before words
let's love each other just because we can
touch me and
i'll touch you
we don't do this on a whim
measure twice cut once
but always from the heart
Jan 14 2016
armand
Categories:
proclamations, art, beautiful, beauty, blessing,
Form:
Free verse
My father's abeng blew up my mother's womb
And I was chained there
Nine months in darkness drinking blood
Longing for my resurrection from the tomb
Longing to break the chains
Holding me before my birth to a carnal earth
Longing to stop him pounding
Pounding on the door of my bereft eternity
I carrying the weight of him already
The weight of them against the gravity
Of my life. My wings folded
Longing wield sword edge of flight against the sun
I burdened to undo what already is done
Have no finality here.
Look at me like an eagle flying in the sun
Blood dripping from my talons when the flight is done
O let me cleanse the world again
In the red flood that alters pain.
One day I was born screaming for a cause
I could not take kindly to tradition
Slapping black and blue a baby's **** ... laws
Must have been broken to beat the innocent
Unless it is a crime to come into this earth
To carry so much legacy
From maroon history to Jesus Christ, blacklisted
Like my my forebears: Shaka
Father of my grandfather's mother,
My other grandfather, Accompong warrior
Slain between the stones of Holland Estate and Mountain
Bridging the way for fleeing slaves
I come Cudjo less, Nanny less, merciless
Carrying on the war of generations
Calling no more for repatriation but reparation
Of human rights, human dignity, and racial sovereignty
Where Africa may find again its concord
Without false treaty and flimsy accord
Raping the Congo of natural resources and life
I come, the bushing through guinea grass
Tumbling kingdoms with wisdom and knife.
For this I was born, beaten at birth
Given resurrection from the night of earth.
My father sought to be civilize
Recite poems of Britannia's might and lies
And I, I was singing with the night
Reading a long history of pain to make write
Of my own proclamations, to declare
I shall not bend my knees, nor walk in fear
Where death measure us in dust
And vampires and conquistadores lust
For El Dorado buried in my disgust.
I am a man, and I will make my monument of truth
Upon the gravestone of the brute.
Categories:
proclamations, politicalme, history, me,
Form:
Free verse
Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder Poetry Contest //Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
( 1st Place )
Written: August 07, 2025
They say stillness is absence, an empty space between worth noting,
but I have heard its melodies in the pre-dawn chapel where stillness reigned
and still the walls exhaled calm.
I have found stillness and not loneliness---
but in two hands clutching without speaking,
the heart knowing inside out
language would only raze.
Silence is like sunlight before it shines,
the tranquility after I sleep and
the reluctance before "I forgive you",
It grips what chaos cannot express--admiration, agony, dread.
Even when grieving and when at a loss for words,
calmness is at hand and says it all.
So let the world fill with echoes.
With clamor and vivid proclamations.
I will still turn up beauty.
In the lull between storms,
In the hush between instinct and doubt
In the sacred calmness, that hark,
Not to respond, but to understand.
Categories:
proclamations, inspirational, love, peace, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Day old coffee
in its maker
a cold witness
sometimes
to broken dreams
and war stories
and proclamations
of
getting well
of
new beginnings
of
hearty hope.
Solemn stories and
cloudy memories
and Joe
laughter’s echo
at some obscure
joke but
the window
knows
how schemes get
distorted
deformed
disfigured.
Some have just
flown that way
inevitably
some do go
without ceremony
without fanfare
no hoopla
simply vanish
and all that’s left
are
empty seats
empty room
empty maker
waiting for
the next batch
of sunshine.
(click the picture to buy my poetry book!)
Categories:
proclamations, addiction, recovery from,
Form:
Free verse
safe haven for poets once existed
till destructive forces came on board
those who seek just to hurt others
end up harming themselves
several such people have inflicted pain here
though no one would call them “writers”
juvenile antics and hateful comments
are their only legacies
through profanity and threats
digging holes to poetry’s Armageddon
alienating those who won’t strike back
or resort to petty, personal attacks
they say, "You're the most despised among the soup clan"
spew lava-like proclamations
hold grudges for years when they don't place
in a contest where only quality work won
evil doers adopt numerous aliases
to favorite each of their own poems
but poets can easily identify them
as their “attempts” at poems all sound the same
if one who can’t write, gives you a contest win
what is it you have really won
their friendship? No, they don’t have friends
do you compare your poetry to theirs
who wants to share on such a site
where mean-spirited people call the shots
other places enforce rules to promote civility
let your conscience guide you to these sites
August 18, 2014
Categories:
proclamations, bullying,
Form:
Free verse
Nearing four hundred years
of living in captivity
Solar eclipse aspirations
has been my people’s enduring
ebony destiny
Almost four hundred years
of divided slavery:
chains seen and chains invisible
Hellish experience of double trouble
Self-congratulatory proclamations
of emancipated release
were accompanied by chains slapped on the brain,
having a tighter squeeze
We were taught
when our alabaster masters
raised the white flag,
we were to bend the knee
Surrender our wounded pride,
and serve the coin of the realm
Give the faces of authority
full submissive servitude,
hold not back labor of the sweat due
We were commanded to give total flag loyalty;
hand over heart obedience
to the strange god who conquered us,
and put our bodies in a cotton coffin field to grieve
We learned to love the sound
of the drag of the chains
It gave sonorous rise
to the voice of our slave dreams
After nearly four hundred years,
we still sing:
Lord, help us endure
the skin sting
and the humiliation pain
of our idol suffering
Let our parched lips
drink long of Exodus liberty
when the Son reign
In the year of release,
let the land be filled
with the sound of jubilee
Nearing the end of
four long generations of undying faith
We believe our bulrush tears
are gonna be Messiah-soothed wiped away
When we no longer hear
Massa shout “Boy” blues,
with his little bald eagle horn blowing
Scarlett O’Hara sour slavery notes
forever gone with the wind
And when we see the white flag lowering,
we shall rise
joyously at captivity’s end
Categories:
proclamations, freedom, joy, pain, slavery,
Form:
Verse
Her language drips with intelligence
The slow drizzle of innuendos
and proclamations from which
she speaks is like witnessing
stalagmites and stalagtites
finally touching as if
each syllable was measured
by a drip
so edifying
And it's not just what she says
but how her lips catch the light
of a candle glow
and how the corners of her mouth
dance with her dimples,
her essence is edible
quite incomprehensible
how one can starve
by tasting it
I love every morsel,
every crumb that falls haphazardly,
to the floor, jealous of the way,
her tongue can be so judgemental,
inviting then inciting, enveloping
making me wish I had
lettered in spiritual dynamics.
I would have been a star
without ever touching a ball.
Her hello, and me running a million miles
in my mind trying to think of some other word
that rhymes with this title
other than bed...
I am fed
Categories:
proclamations, language,
Form:
Free verse
You Fall ...
the ground of your reality dissolves in this
stream of distraction, this inconvenient passion
the mawkish pop music you mock
is now singing your story, as
your thoughts, your breath, your blood
all consumed by his eyes, his voice, his words
all the moments of his notice of you
painting your gray paper with extrinsic purple
and lavish green, filling your thirsty cup
with intoxicating attention, until time
is measured only by your meetings
You Stall...
hitting the invisible, inimical wall
penalized and ostracized
for presuming the right to ask why
for waking from complicit worship
for retaking your will and your mind
for staining his golden idol
with faith of the atheist
You Call...
for all his proud proclamations
he is a needy, greedy child
your adoration is his sun
your life force he feasts on
disenchantment is your release
from the prison of submission
his hollow heart, his churlish charm
all merely a false alarm-
9/10/18
Categories:
proclamations, love hurts, pain, recovery
Form:
Free verse
Asking neither names, nor historical periods, Clio draws wide circles of popular masses around square lonelinesses. What's all this noise about? A rich man’s circumference is longer than a pauper’s one! Down with circumference! Fortunately, the nasturtium-clad fence is high enough. The noise is getting louder. Is it just me, or do they want again to take away and to split everything they have already taken and split once? Hydrocarbons, how sweet the smell! Oh, heavenly music of coins clinking! Perhaps, but I’ve chosen the planets motion instead of the people's movement. Violent Paris isn’t worth a mass: having fenced my paradise garden, I admire the swarthiness of girl’s skin and the whiteness of English play. Neither the close lightnings of revolution, nor the accusative case of proclamations, nor uprising, nor mutiny
nor bloody revolt
shall disturb your honey sleep
my dear nasturtiums
Categories:
proclamations, art, freedom, literature, social,
Form:
Haibun
In the quiet chambers of empathy,
Where understanding blooms like a fragile flower,
I tread softly, my footsteps hushed,
Seeking to grasp the unspoken whispers.
No grand proclamations, no eloquent speeches,
Just a heart open wide, arms outstretched,
To catch the fragments of another's soul,
As they spill forth, raw and unfiltered.
I weave patience into my bones,
A tapestry of compassion stitched with care,
For sometimes understanding is not a lightning bolt,
But a slow, steady rain that nurtures parched earth.
I hold space for the tangled threads of pain,
The knotted memories, the frayed edges of hope,
And I listen — truly listen — without interruption,
As if the universe itself were whispering secrets.
Yet, there are moments when my own storms rage,
When understanding slips through my fingers,
And I grapple with the weight of my limitations,
Yearning to bridge the chasm between hearts.
But still, I persist, for in the quietude of trying,
I find solace — a fragile bridge of connection,
Spanning across the vast expanse of human experience,
A testament to our shared fragility and resilience.
So, let us be understanding without fanfare,
Without accolades or applause, but simply because,
In the silence of listening, we discover our kinship,
And the world becomes a softer, kinder place.
Categories:
proclamations, blessing, emotions, girlfriend, how
Form:
Free verse
In a space that should hum with focus,
Where thoughts flow like ink on paper,
I walk the halls, and what do I hear?
The clatter of egos—loud, brash,
A symphony of insecurity,
Each voice a drum pounding louder,
Drowning out the quiet rhythm of real productivity.
Oh, the harshness of noise!
Your chatter like chainsaws,
Hacking away the sweet silence,
The sanctuary where ideas bloom.
Conversations compete like wild animals,
Roaring for attention,
But who’s listening?
Who's doing it?
I can’t hear my thoughts,
Lost beneath the weight of your bravado,
Your anecdotes, your grand proclamations,
About deadlines, met and spreadsheets conquered,
But all I see is the façade,
The show of work,
Not the act of working.
It’s an orchestra of distraction,
A cacophony of competition,
Where silence is a crime,
And whispers are for the weak.
But listen!
True strength speaks softly,
In the space between breaths,
In the echo of contemplation.
But here you are,
Standing tall, voice raised,
As if volume equates to value
As if the loudest in the room
It is the most productive.
It’s a mask you wear,
But I see behind it—
Just shadows, just noise,
Just the harshness of insecurities masked as power.
We chase the clock,
Tapping away, thinking,
We’re winning some races,
But it's not a marathon,
It’s a serenade,
A melody of purpose,
And you’re just playing the wrong tune.
So, let’s pause.
Lower the volume,
Tune down the tumult,
And Let the silence reign
In this kingdom of commerce.
Let whispers be the wings of ideas,
Let the quiet be our battle cry,
For in the stillness, we create,
In the calm, we conquer—
Let’s reclaim the space
From the harshness of noise.
Let’s work with purpose,
Let’s make a change—
Because the loudest voice
It doesn't always win,
Sometimes it’s the softest,
The most profound,
That ignites the fire
Of true creation.
Categories:
proclamations, angst, silence, spoken word,
Form:
Free verse
The Sun rises...
I know the supposed science
of light,
bips and wavy lines of
pulsed propagation
like a heart
like emotions~
how human feelings start
and stop, the forward/backward of time --
the morning news
our repeated proclamations
stagnation and regressive
signatures, announced and printed
shouted over electronic airways
man’s modern-day gazettes
dawn’s transparent lush
on my face,
I admire and study –
the brushwork of gleams~
patterns of my traveled summits
and depressions indented
zebra primrose blossoming, in short
what love created such marvelous
striations? Say ye a God~ surely even
the moron
in glaring absence of other proof
would not guess less?
Him/Her? Our Blessed Hermaphrodite
of sentient-being creating, of morphing-realms
unending evolving
salacious advances of life mating,
entangling, imparting fond mysteries --
lips of roses unfurling, curling, inviting
nearer breaths for uninhibited exploration –
such exposure awakens and sleeps
yet we sense beyond-maturity
delve the wizard behind the curtain
all us Dorothys
trying to find a true way home
imaginable, at least a steady firmament though we
slip precipitously – My thought, to dust, clean and change
the sheets, as a new warmth attempts to re-freshen
recover nature’s veiled cycles our nightly often deeply
staining retreats
Categories:
proclamations, creation, emotions, humanity, perspective,
Form:
Free verse
Into the sandbox
Come the flappers and the seekers
Like puppets on strings
Dancing to their own childish whims
The profiler watches
As they think they sing
The poison in their stories a piercing ring
Like chess moves, piece by piece
Slowly
From a blank slate
We see the wrong turns inflicted at childhood
Them thinking they are so misunderstood
Sandbox babies
Making sandstorms
Proclamations of their righteousness
Even as they commit both big and petty sins
Narcissistic egos purchasing mirrors at IKEA
So they can stare at their own opinions
Locking their minds in the open mirrored box
No refunds
Categories:
proclamations, art, christian, imagery, psychological,
Form:
Free verse
Life so blue what have I done to you?
Your daunting frame constricts my days,
And I feel the air in my lungs dissipate,
Cuts so deep I bleed and I weep,
For more than one crushed soul beneath your heel,
Sitting here in my tiny box full of thoughts,
Watching your raging despair and relentless fury,
There is no God that hath made such imperfect savagery,
There is so much we know lost to echoes from the past,
So much we yet don't because our greed is fast,
Blessed with a world so rich and bountiful,
Cursed to be sucked dry by humanity's scoundrels,
When invisible masters tug at the strings,
Half the world bows down and sings,
We're only the architects of our own destruction,
Choosing to trust in stories resurrection,
Instead of trading today's hate for tomorrow's affection,
To live with the knowledge that countless will die only knowing misery,
Is only to hope that my own life will measure to some antonym of our history,
The universe shows us everyday how much there is to discover,
But we spend our time watching and fighting wars with each other,
There's a infinite sky speckled with possibility above,
But we hang our heads low and call this life enough,
This paradox is what drives me to empty pages,
Waiting to be filled with more empty proclamations,
No one will listen and no one will know,
Of a fearful boy's bitter poetry or prose.
Categories:
proclamations, adventure, hate, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
~~~
Soft graceful effortless magnificence
From sweeping preambles omnipresence
O’er marine moistening proclamations
Tides flowing distanced admirations
Warm simple potency unprotected
Leads ancient seafarers disconcerted
To destine improvements phenomenon
Place complete peacefulness comprehension
~~~
©2014 by Regina Riddle
THE LIGHTHOUSE - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: nette onclaud
September 23, 2014
Categories:
proclamations, muse,
Form:
Verse